Passion
by Turtle.Prince
Summary: And okay, maybe he didn't have the brightest personality in the world. But he was your fruit loop in a box of Cheerios. -8018


**A/N **: A random drabble turned into this, though I'm not sure where I was trying to go in the first place... :\ I really have nothing to say, so to the random drabble-story like thing.

(Do I have to put a disclaimer thing? Well, whatever, 8O18 don't belong to me. -sad face-)

**Warning : **Written in between the enslavement hours of the evil bunnehs, please excuse the randomness/shift in pace/etcetc. If it doesn't make sense, I'm sorry ...use your imagination? :(

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"Do you believe in ever-lasting love?"

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Isn't it strange how Fate pulls just the _strangest_ people together? Not strange as in 'Oh, he's a bit of a masochist idiot and I wouldn't be shocked if that other one was a cannibal,' but..._ out of the ordinary_ good-kind of strange. And you've seen it before - people falling love. Girls making cookies and guys in the kendo clubs and whatnot coming together. But you know it's fake. You know that the cookies were actually brought _before-hand. _And the guys in the kendo or those popular sports clubs can't really hold a sword right. And are sissies inside.

You don't believe it. Like you don't believe the fairy tales about Rapunzel being kidnapped by the seven dwarfs and being held in a glass coffin with sleeping gas. Or the stories about Cinderella being stuck in the tower while throwing bread crumbs out the small window everyday. How she could just escape from the door at the bottom of the tower. Or jump out. If she had bread, she _had_ to have a way out, right?

All this love business - it was pretty stupid.

Okay, so _maybe_ you _kinda_ liked the attention the girls gave you because you were _somewhat_ of a star - prodigy, they say - but you only liked it a _little_! You didn't mind the attention, it was sometimes uncalled for though... The _accidental_ skirt flashing or boobs showing - you weren't into it. And when you found that out, you felt somewhat okay. You were always the strange type, so that was okay to accept when you found out you just weren't into boobs and butts. You were always 'out of the ordinary,' so it was only normal that you liked things that weren't 'ordinary,' right?

And you had to admit - when you saw _him_, you immediately said to yourself, 'Ah, now that's my type,' because he was anything _but_ ordinary.

His dark eyes (that you think make him look like a cat when you're by yourself) that always looked like they were angry with everything... glaring at you as if imagining the cruelest way to kill you. The murderous intent he has when he's storming down the hall at you when you accidentally call out his name. His _full name_. ...And maybe it wasn't _totally_ on accident. You found it endearing.

And okay, maybe he didn't have the _brightest _personality in the world. But he was your fruit loop in a box of Cheerios.

And that was all that matters.

You find yourself _liking_ him. Liking _liking_ him - not to the point of obsession because you doubted the stores made collectible trading cards with pictures of him and life-size posters...... But-But it wasn't like you were going to buy them if they existed! You start thinking of them more, finding out about their characteristics. The itsy-bitsy, tiny details about them that only _you_ know and no one else does. (And maybe other people _do_ know, but you like to pretend that it's just you.)

And you finally understand it. That nervous feeling. That adrenaline rushing, short of breath, _heart attack_ kind of feeling. You become restless - not eating enough, not sleeping right. When you eat, you think of their favorite food. Comparing each and see if it matched with the type of person he was. You start thinking of what they also disliked and somehow went so into detail about it that, ignoring your friends becoming scared by your sudden change in thinking, you start to _not like_ that food. Partly because you found out it was bad for your body. And partly because you get this idea that he doesn't like it.

When you sleep, you see him. You dream about him. Have embarrassing situations that are uncalled for. Even if they were in the personal confinement of your room. Situations that... that doesn't need further explanation. You see him when you close your eyes, you wake up sweating like a waterfall, your heart flip-flopping like a fish out of water, your mouth dry like the Sahara Desert.

...Among other things.

How you suddenly feel that feeling when you think of him or was close to him. That regret when you find out that you'll graduate soon. And you highly doubt he was _ever_ going to leave the school. Maybe if a 'Namimori University' existed. Which you think did, but you don't think about that. You just feel scared that you might not see him anymore. And you decide on something big, something _outrageous_ as you sit at the steps of the rooftop door, knowing he was on the other side. Contemplating if you should do it or not.

How nerve-wrecking you felt when you had gathered enough courage to ask him out. And that happiness you felt when he said "yes".

Okay....... so maybe he didn't _actually_ say 'Yes' and didn't think of it as a date, but _you_ did. And you're too happy about the fact that he's actually going with you to think too into depth about whether it was a date or not. You find yourself planning the second and third date - marriage...? Not yet. The prices were kinda high right now - even though the first date hasn't happened. You spend the whole time preparing, debating with yourself on what you should wear.

You wonder if you should bring flowers. And what kind? You start questioning yourself aloud, not really caring if anyone else heard your frustration outside. Questions like ....Did he even_ like_ flowers? What if he was allergic? ...You decide you shouldn't. Deciding on your own that the two of you was going to go see a movie - despite his (fear?) dislike of crowds (well, he _did_ agree... kinda...) - was already pushing it when you didn't even let him speak.

So... no flowers. You then wonder about things you never even thought about. You think of what you would do in the movie, would he like it? You spend so much time thinking, your plan of getting there early is ruined and you are late.

Panic-attack.

You forget what you should wear. You pick up random things laying on the floor - hoping it doesn't smell. And run out. And while rushing out, you forgot your keys with that Astro Boy key chain on it that everyone makes fun of you for but you don't care. You like Astro Boy. Your also forgot your phone, and maybe even your shoes...

You had made sure to bring enough money. And although he said that it wasn't necessary, you feel you had to pay for his portion to. Along with the food and other things. You wanted to know for your own eyes that he ate just like every other human being. And although the theater was pretty much empty save for the two of you - you try to believe that it was because no one wanted to see this movie... even though you knew it was the sensation of the month - the year - and today was the opening.

And with the popcorn separating the two of you, you keep your hands to yourself. No matter how much you want to hold his... Being so close called for it! You're not sure if you should, actually. And you fear your hands would be sweaty. So you occasionally wipe them on your knee and just try to concentrate on the movie. You get kinda distracted, though, when he suddenly leans to the side and you cold smell his shampoo. You can't pinpoint the brand or if it was one. But you decide it was probably just regular shampoo.

Very _good_ smelling shampoo.

Given any other circumstances, you usually pay attention to the movie as if your life depended on you paying attention to it, but you're too busy worrying about your sweaty hands. And the way he smells... And if you could hold his hand or not. But then, you wonder, what if _his_ hands were sweaty too?! And you regretted eating that 5 chocolate bars; it was making you dellusional.

And then your hand brushes against his when the two of you decide to reach for the popcorn.

You say no apology when your hand (by instinct, you swore) grabbed his and held it. Almost caressing it. _Almost_. After a moment, a tug, and you let go. Sitting back, you felt kinda empty. There was no death-threat. Nothing. You don't know if this is a good thing or not.

You don't know how much time has passed - you're too busy imagining his hand in yours - but you feel him shift in his seat again. The bucket of popcorn is empty and sitting between your feet, empty chocolate wrappers inside. You don't pay attention though, when the shifting increases. And you wonder what's wrong with him. It was almost as if... You ask him if he needed to use the restroom, but never got to finish asking the question when he suddenly tilted his head against your arm.

'I'm tired...'

You say nothing more as you think about trying to make yourself come to the same height as him in the chair - so he could be more comfortable. You think you should put your arm around him. The theater _was_ kinda cold... You do nothing though when he press his head even closer to your arm. You think this is the best. Since it wouldn't be wise to interrupt him.

Besides, he was _laying_ against you. You don't need to ask for more. He'll probably stop. So, you keep your arm still. But you still silently wonder to yourself on what it would feel like to have your arm around him. Or, well, _any_ part of you just _holding_ him.

So you took a chance, let it be death or not, your fingers hesitantly reached in the dark, trying to search for his. You keep your eyes on the screen, smiling to yourself when you finally found it. His smaller, pale hand that just seem so cold. Waiting. Any moment now, he would pull away like sometime ago. And you feel you could breath again when he doesn't.

As if you haven't relaxed in years, you sit back and smile to yourself as the movie continued.

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Okay, so, maybe not _everyone's_ first love was like that...

But we have all experienced the awkward first date, maybe, the silences when it was too early to talk about some things.

The first time they came over.

The first time when it was just the _two_ of you _alone_.

Hand holding the first time felt okay. You slowly got used to it. But then you wanted to _touch_ them. To just hug them. And you worry again. Like the first time. What if you had bad B.O.? So you start to shower more. At least 5 times a day. Every time there was a stain, you took a shower. You start to believe that love really _do_ make people go crazy.

And then you obviously reject the idea that it's happening to you.

Because you were _in love_. Not suicidal. You wouldn't do something drastic. No, you would start off slow. Because that was how things worked. They all worked in a sequence we might deny, but.. it's there. Because all things start off with that kiss. That awkward first kiss. It tingles when you remember it. Because you can't forget that _adrenaline rushing_ feeling. And maybe after some time together, you get closer and closer. To the point where the little small kisses would turn into longer ones.

Times together would involve more touching. More kissing. And even if he denies that you're both together - you think it's cute that he's being shy. How his pale cheeks would burn a darker shade of pink every time you tell him he was cute, despite getting hit every now and then. You don't have to sneak around because he thinks you're a 'herbivore' for doing that - despite the fact that he wouldn't let you hold his hand and or kiss him in public.

But you _like_ the feeling of being sneaky, _not because you want to be careful, but because it makes you feel like a ninja. _

Times like making out in his office, "forgetting" to lock the door, knowing _any moment_ now one of his men could barge in and interrupt you two. Knowing _exactly_ when he's patrolling the halls and using bathroom passes to go meet him - getting pulled and thrown violently against the walls so the two of you could make out in-between the corners. Then making your way to the bathroom, trying to keep your hands to yourself until you get there. And when you do, you spend your 'quality time' together that you can't wait until 'after-school.'

It was the excitement - the rush - the feeling you get, knowing you could get caught. It _fuels_ you. Fueled your need for him. And you love it.

But there were also times where the feelings weren't so rushed - weren't so act-first-think-later. It was those small times spending quality time together without having to sneak around.

Those times skipping half a lesson or lunchtime to go to the roof to be with him - just to lay there or sit there staring at the sky while he takes a nap. On you. Because you tell him the floors could be dirty and you didn't want his head/body to hurt from laying on such a hard thing. And even though he has been doing it for who knows how long, he silently listens.

You become his personal pillow, even if you get punished for being late to class. Because for that brief moment, you could hold him. And without speaking a word, he can know your feelings throught your rapid heartbeat. And because standing in the hallways holding textbooks is nothing to you, because you get a good view of him from outside the window. And you would wave to him. He would ignore you and walk away though. But then he would come by and he would stand there with you.

Telling you that the only reason why he was there was to keep an eye on you. So you wouldn't abandon your punishment.

But you know it's something else. So you would try and balance all the books on one hand while trying link your hands together. And baseball pratice has given you enough strength to hold all the heavy textbooks, if not then it was due to all the 'training' he had you do. What with chasing after him, or running across to the next town because he wanted a _specific _type of tofu for the next day's lunch. Or the times on the roof when he would attack you out of nowhere because you were being a 'herbivore.'

But you don't blame him. You had came up there late and he was probably cranky from not sleeping. And you feel kinda happy that sleeping on you had became a habit embedded into him.

He denies it all, though.

Your friends would question you on why you seem so happy, always thinking something good happened during baseball practice. Which was _kinda_ true. You don't tell them though. You just agree. Because it was _kinda_ true. And every time they ask, your mind would wander back to the after school practices. How you would have to stay late afterwards. Almost to 8 while everyone else headed home. You do that, though, only because you still see the light in the Disciplinary Committee office still on.

And when it goes out, you would meet him.

And the two of you would walk home together. To _your_ home, because you don't think he's eaten anything and you had things to do at home. ...Things that involved him as a participant. You walk close, shoulders to shoulders. Holding hands. That was what you loved the most about walking home with him. You get to hold his hand and kiss him as much as you want. Because it's at night and no one is around. (But you like to believe that he does it because he's scared of the dark.) And even though it was a good thing, it _sometimes_ become a hindrance. You get too touchy, too needy.

Too... _over-it_ for him.

Because you haven't touched him for _hours_ that felt like _days_ and you find yourself standing under the streetlight of Namimori - making out with him. Violently pushing him up against the wall, up against _anything_. Because he likes that. But you try to add a touch of gentleness in it to. And you _try_ not to over-do it when you feel the urge to run your hand up under his shirt. Or when you hear the sounds he make when he's clutching on your sleeve, his hand in your hair - silently telling you he wanted more.

....

So you decide to stop the extra make-out sessions, because you suddenly fear you might just rape him then and there. And you settle for just small kisses, holding his hand, and teasing him. Telling him all the _perverted_ things you'd do to him when the two of you would get back to your place - with your face buried in his neck and arm encircled around his thin waist. Waiting at a crossing far too long, even when cars aren't passing by.

Your old man becomes accustomed to seeing him now. He takes a _great_ liking to your 'new friend.' Calling him by his name every now and then. Making his food portion bigger than yours. Or, well.. not making yours at all. Cooking his favorite dishes when the two of you would come home. _Calling him your wife._ Yes, you were sure your old man took a _great_ liking to him. Maybe a little _too_ much.

But that was okay; you don't pay too much attention to it.

It was when you were in your room with the door not yet fully closed before he starts pulling. Pulling at your clothes, tearing it off as you try to lock the door - telling him to wait - while he's pulling you to your single bed. His mouth attacking every part of exposed areas on you and you don't have to hold back that urge to keep your hands to yourself.

And although your old man told you that you needed a new mattress, you're too lazy to get a bigger one. You like the small mattress. Because it makes you and him _closer_. Since it was a single, only _one_ person can lay in it. And that makes being with him even more of a challenge.

Prying his clothes off, your hands work fast. Your limbs tangled together, breathing unevenly as you try to stay on the single bed. And it becomes a challenge - who could make who moan first? Your room was somewhat sound-proof. And your house was always loud too. But it felt _exciting _to want to be careful - exciting to try and make him moan as loud as he could.

And as you watch him lay close to you, his cheeks all flushed, his dark eyes hazy, body sweating and panting unevenly - you find yourself lucky. Lucky to have him. That he was yours. Lucky to know that he wants you, loves you, just as much as you love him and want him.

_Because you were in love_.

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Days passes by. Graduation Day nears. More exams. He wouldn't let you touch him. You feel anxious. Not from the schoolwork pressure. But because he wouldn't let you touch him. Not even letting you watch him from a distance. You wonder what was wrong. Did you do something wrong? You start thinking about the times you would steal his food. You start panicking. Grudges held over food were truly the scariest thing. You try to do the things you normally do with him, only to find out he's more busy. He doesn't want to see you.

You start to wonder if this was the time of your mid-life crisis. You start laughing at yourself for thinking something like that. But you still felt worried. What _if_ it was true?

You go see him as much as possible before exams near. You ask him what's wrong. He never answers. Just tells you to leave. You don't know what to do. You're tired of it. You're tired of going back to those restless nights thinking about him. And not being able to do _anything _about it. And as you tumble across the roof, your arms grabbing his wrists and pinning him down, you tell him you love him...

Not those raspy, out of breath 'I love you's you've always exchanged during love making, but a deep, heartfelt one. One that was laced with the raw emotions of loneliness that you're feeling among many others because it feels like you've separated. And as he lays there, his arms motionless by his side, you tell him just how much you miss him. How you're so confused at the moment. Almost neglected as to why he wouldn't let you near him.

Under that summer breeze while pinning him, your pour your heart out to him.

...Only to be called an idiot because you were suddenly crying. And you just wanted to rip his clothes apart and take him there when he tells you he just wanted you to concentrate on your exams. He wanted you to get into a good university and pass because he knows you can be lazy when it comes to school. You can't help it. That face he makes - with his eyes casted to the side and cheeks a hint of the lightest pink - made your inside tingle. But all you can do is hug him. Telling him that he was cute. That you were more worried about him not looking at you than the fact that you might fail.

In the end, getting a few punches and lectured about school and discipline was alright.

You got to hold his hand in the end. And you gained yourself a personal tutor.

And when you find that _just _perfect score - not the best, not all that perfect - but _enough_, you can't help but feel extremely happy. Not the fact that you've _bearly_ passed your courses, but the fact that you could touch him and hold him again.

(As if those times spent 'studying' and getting to do whatever you wanted to do to him when you got an answer right wasn't enough... It was true; you could only _look_ as he took off his clothes for you. But today, today was different. You could watch him _and_ touch him. _Fulfilling all your sinful needs_.)

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And then comes the 'future together.' You never actually planned it this far. Heck, you gave up planning on anything. You don't do that. It just.. wasn't you. You find out that college was much tougher than you thought, but you made it through with the baseball scholarship you got. (And also thanks to your... 'personal stress-reliever.') You also find out you didn't need to get a job because the kiddo's 'missions' for you paid more money than you expected.

But then again, he _had_ to give you _something_ for always showing up to class late or not at all.

And even though sometimes, half of it goes to the damage repair that has to be done due to a.. certain indifferent Guardian, you're okay with it. You start planning a place. Maybe having enough money to finally get an apartment _together_, just because you think his apartment was part of a haunted neighborhood and you don't want to burden your old man anymore. But you're siding more on the you wanted more privacy. _Away from his haunted neighborhood_.

Then comes the moments of living together - finding out his, you doubt were newly developed, bad habits but still loving him.

Okay, maybe not _totally_ loving the empty chocolate wrappers that are slowly looking like they are new tiles for your apartment, but still loving him as a person. Because it's cute. You might find his addiction to sugar scarier than you orignally thought a _normal_ person could have. (Because, well.. you got to see him in his underwear sometimes when he's on a sugar rush....)

You can feel more comfortable walking around half naked - or bare.. wait, no - and he'll be.... somewhat okay with it.

Because the next moment, you'll be pushing him up against the fridge, the counter, against the dishwasher, or on the breakfast table you eat on - and it'll all be okay. But there'll still be that 'Put on a goddamn shirt before I fucking kill you!'-kind of comment, and even though it really _does_ sound like he'll really slice you open with that knife he has in his hand - you take it as a good compliment.

Making a note to yourself never to flash while he's in the kitchen _cooking up evil potions in his giant, black cauldron. _And another personal one to hide all the knives and pointy objects. (The advantages of being taller.)

Because it's cute.

Well... you can cut the flashing thing down to _once_ in a while.

Your food wouldn't consist of take-outs anymore or just plain hot water and ramen because you feel lazy to cook even though you're supposedly a sushi chef's son. It would be more.. in-detail. Cusine types. Because you feel the need to share and show off to him. Surprise or amaze him with his favorite dishes. What you're good at doing. Bribing him with kanpachi because you know his love for it wasn't healthy. ­_The way he likes to eat it off you... _Or hand feeding him, ignoring it when he says he hates it.

But still goes along, because he secretly likes it.

But there are just days when you want to lay off the apron. You might be a god in the kitchen, but you're kinda lazy. And you love it when he cooks. Whether it be a huge omlette with a heart in it (because you asked him to put it there), along with some weird message like 'I put birth control pills in your milk,' when you're checking on the toast with your back turned to him, or soup. Yes, _soup_.

...Soup is considered a cuisine.

You start to believe that these moments would never end. That they will continue. Sleeping with him or laying next to him on the couch when it's too small to lay on it horizontally after you've just made love on it, but still persisting because he happened to smell nice, in your definition. And despite the fact that your apartment is _really_ hot because you were too lazy to turn the AC on and you're both sweaty, he lets you. Because you just want to hold him. Hold onto him and breathe in his smell, _your_ smell.

In that couch that was too small for two people to lay horizontally.

And those mornings waking up with the feeling of the cold air on your skin, and _somehow_ you're laying on the floor while he's still perfectly on the couch. Then feeling the urge that you want to _touch_ him again, pulling at his body until he rolls over onto you. And you're both laying there on the floor, with your arms wrapped around his tiny body.

...Only to be left alone moment later as he wakes up from the sudden drop, walking away to the bedroom.

_In your shirt_.

Moments like following him, kissing him as he's sleeping, whispering words of love against his neck whether he hears them or not, your fingers caressing his soft skin under your shirt as you tell him how beautiful he was. It was moments like those that make you realize just how much you love him. When his arms are around him, when he's sighing contently, mumbling your name as you place kisses all over his body. Wanting to make love to him even though he's sleeping.

It was moments like those that made you feel you've picked the right one. That you weren't at _all_ suicidal like your friends said you were. Moments like letting him wake-up to your sudden arousal, knowing he wouldn't object. Even _if_ you've done it far too many times to count last night. On that tiny couch of yours that can't contain two people laying horizontally.

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...And at some point, no matter how good the relationship goes, there will always be _something_ that comes in the way. Cause a misunderstanding. That _something_ won't be so simple as the time you left your underwear on the floor - randomly lying there... maybe on purpose. (You were only trying to send off sexy messages to him when he got home!) Or the time you paraded around with _his_ Calvin Klein on your _head_, in the nude.

Your day might've started off wrong, you didn't feel too great. Last night you two didn't sleep with one another, ...but you did fall asleep. You hear weird rumors. About him. And a certain mafia boss that you thought were just rumors from before. Back in middle school when they had trained together. Something bad happened at work, your mission went kinda weird - you find yourself more distracted.

You don't want to believe that it was happening. It just can't be, right? That he was seeing someone else. And it doesn't bother you that it was behind your back or he didn't tell you. But it was because it was with someone you _knew_ and respected. And when you come home, expecting him to be there, you don't find him. You feel the weight on your shoulders suddenly collapsing.

And as you sit on your car that had magically broken down while you were going to look after him - not really knowing that he was looking for you at the same time - you... start feeling almost... depressed. You think you should smoke - even though you shouldn't. Because he hates it. And you quitted for him. So you throw it away, even though the 'No Littering. 1500Y Fine.' is right _next_ to you, but you don't care.

You're taking a trip down memory lane as you stare absent-mindedly off into the distance.

You think about his good and bad points. Of absurd things. Unrelated things. The way he likes to have the toilet paper _on top _and sometimes folded neatly. Into a triangle, you think. How he would fuss if you didn't tear it right. And it _always_ had to be the most expensive brand that was the softest and had a nice texture to it.

You find yourself smiling at a fond memory - seeing him only in a towel, dropping it when you walk into the bathroom shirtless. The first time you saw him naked outside of the bedroom. And maybe it was the fact that your zippers weren't ripped up and the buttons were open and your pants and underwear - more specifically, _his_ underwear - were just _barely_ hanging onto your hips.

(You didn't think it was necessary to pull them _all_ the way up.) Or maybe it was the way he had looked, his eyes slightly widened, cheeks flushed (maybe from the hot shower?), the steamy room - or the fact that he was naked before you and you had just made love but still felt insatiable - you find yourself being pinned to the wall by him.

The first time he actually _wanted_ to get dirty again even though he just took a shower.

Your memory randomly shifts to something less intimate, less sexual. Like his clumsy chopstick skills. And how cute it was. You think about the way he pouted when something went wrong, or that angry face you can't help but love. The chocolate he liked to buy every Saturday; always the 80 pack. And you wonder who in the world ate 80 bars in one day, ...and found them. The way he sat with his legs crossed, hands neatly placed on his lap when speaking seriously with others.

And how his posture changes when he's at home.

When he's wearing nothing but your favorite t-shirt and white socks, with his knees close to his chest - maybe intentionally letting you see his underwear - while he's reading a book and eating a chocolate bar with the tv on. You find it cute and at the same time, _sexy_, that he's doing something like that. And when you startle him by suddenly creeping up on him - knowing he can get so absorbed in his books - and kissing his exposed thighs, you can't help but think how cute he looks with a little chocolate smear on his lips as he's hitting you with his book.

Because it's cute. Because _he's_ cute.

Or when you're going out to work or wherever and you just _happen_ to pick up a shirt of yours that _he_ had worn. And not knowing it until you're out the door or in your car and you can smell him on you. Only to turn back even though you're just about halfway to work, finding yourself storming through your apartment, into the bedroom. And making love to him even though he's barely awake. Because you know you'll be able to _make_ him wake up.

Even if you're showing up to work late with a few scratches and bruises.

You think about stuff you might've thought were absurd before - maybe sleep with that stuff animal that has his smell on it. The one that you wanted to win and spent a ridiculous amount of money on just because you saw him eyeing it - even though he denied the whole thing. But you secretly see the small smile he has when you give it to him. If not sleeping with it every night and hugging it more than he hugs you wasn't a big enough clue.

You find yourself at a dead-end. You don't know what to do.

You want to go home.

You think of calling him, but somehow, your phone has _mysteriously _broken too. But on the bright side, your car works again. You find yourself at home, in the apartment that is now empty. It feels cold. Too cold. You hear your footsteps echo a bit too loudly as you drop your keys and take off your shoes. You throw them mindlessly and you find yourself doing things.. well, out of the ordinary; you leave your wrinkled shirt on the floor, you decide to fold your socks, and then find that you suddenly have the urge to clean up in your boxers.

The boxers he bought for you, to be correct.

You felt it was sweet as you remember that moment. How he said it was because you always left your underwear around and complained about not having different varieties and he was tired of it. You find it funny how at that moment you had thought it was because that way, a part of him will always be close to you.

...Just _there_. And the somewhat awkward situation he had to deal with when you decided to take off your clothes to try them on - although you figured taking your shirt off to try on boxers wasn't necessary.......

But that was who you are. It came with the package.

Being with you _called_ for embarrassing moments.

And when you are done cleaning, you feel like wearing your clothes again... You pick up your wrinkled shirt, but you don't button it. You wear one sock, but leave the other - folded - at its place. Your pants are somewhat on, zipper's just undone. Your shirt is semi-tucked. And you look like you just had wild sex or had a battle to the death with a wild animal. But you don't care. You walk into the kitchen. But you don't feel hungry.

You open the fridge. You find all your favorite food but you're looking for _his _favorite food. But then you start rummaging past the milk, the veggies, the fruits - looking for ancient 100-year-old mushroom just for the hell of it. (But secretly, it was because of the way his hair was like a mushroom. A _fluffy_ mushroom.)

You give up. You walk around to the table you used to have breakfast on. The same table where you had made love to him on - when he was in only a teeshirt and an apron. You go to the bathroom. You stare at the sparkly white tiles where you made out on. You look to the sink, ...to the tub - all the places you had kissed him against. ...Or done other stuff in.

You lock the door even though no one was at home. It didn't matter. It wasn't like you locked it before. And even when it _was_ locked - say, he was taking a shower and you needed to... fullfill your body's need to release its contents - you found a way to get in. And smiling at the fact that he don't seem to mind you doing your... business while he showered.

But that was real love, wasn't it?

Even when he threatened to disable your ability to have babies. You don't care. You like kids, but you didn't want any of your own. Well, maybe if _he _could _somehow_ make kids. But that was unlikely. You smile at the things you and him did in this room, even if he didn't want to - whether it be bathing together, brushing your teeth together, or just standing there watching him as he combed his hair. You find those moments endearing.

The faces he would make...

You decide to leave the bathroom.

You go back into the kitchen and just stare around for a while. Open your fridge. No mushroom. You walk into the living room. You recall the things he told you - be it about the book he was reading which you find complicated but still wants to ask or about the news - while you lay your head on his lap, with nothing good on tv except for weather reports and storm warnings. But you don't care. The guy on tv could say Japan was flooding over or the sun suddenly exploded and there would only be darkness.

It didn't matter. Your light was in front of you. You don't need anything else.

And you feel the urge to turn on the tv. To fill this silence. You find nothing on tv but sappy love movies or emotional commercials. You don't find it coincidential. You feel angered. You feel stupid. You feel like the tv had done something wrong to you - picking this day of all days to make fun of you with these emotional-break-up movies/commercials. Not noticing that this was the same crap the tv spewed everyday.

Your mind wander off. You look at the old pictures and the funny faces the two of you made - okay, well, maybe just you. But you smile at it. How even though he refused to kiss you, to sit on your lap or hold your hand - he still dealt with you to take these silly pictures, ...when you had him there. But wasn't that the whole point - to capture the _magic_ of the moment?

You miss it.

You find yourself thinking of him more, whether you're staring at the walls figuring out if there were pictures there and then seeing _him_. Or you're watching a fast food commercial and you think of his favorite food, which reminds you of the mushroom because it's a food, which makes you think of his hair. Because it freakin' looks like a mushroom fluff. And you miss him. You see colors and you think of his favorite one.

Where was he?

You start wondering what you should do. If he were to leave - what would you do? If he were to never return - how will you deal with yourself? You truly don't know. You call out his name into the silence of the house, ridiculously thinking he'd answer back with yours. You wonder if he misses you right now as much you miss him. If he's thinking of you.

And you feel almost helpless, as you lay there on the single couch that was once too small for the both of you. The same one that suddenly felt too big. Too empty.

Without him.

.

.

.

**End? **Whee, how was it? :D


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